The Valhalla Saga 01 - Swords of Good Men (16 page)

‘Watch where you’re going!’ the fat man snarled and gave Ragnar a hard shove. Wild-eyed, the old scout turned around. ‘There’s a fire! Down at the harbour!’ The man frowned, suspicion etched on his face. ‘Use your nose if you don’t believe me!’ Ragnar implored.

And sure enough, a faint whiff of burning wood carried on the wind.

Snapping to in an instant, the man ran off, shouting ‘FIRE!’ at the top of his lungs.

Oraekja watched in astonishment as the panic drained out of Ragnar’s face. The old scout flashed him a cold, calculating grin and winked. Almost instantly the panic flooded back into his eyes, into the turn of the mouth, the stooping back. He joined in with the rising chorus of ‘FIRE!’ and took off at a loping gait
towards the south gate. ‘Bastard,’ Oraekja whispered as he chased him towards the south gateway.

*

‘FIRE!!’

Voices rose to echo the cry.

‘FIRE IN THE HARBOUR!’

Suddenly the streets were full of bodies, jostling and pushing.

‘THE SHIPS ARE BURNING!’

Elbows, shoulders and hands pushed at Audun.

Too slow. Too many people in the way.

A thin, greying man pushed past him going the other way, eyes wide open, panic etched on his face. ‘IT’S ALL BURNING!’ he shouted almost into Audun’s ear. A young, shifty and rat-faced man followed him, face set in a grimace. Audun shouldered past them and kept pushing, trying to inch and squirm closer to the gateway. The gate loomed, blocked by a throng of men pushing and scrabbling to get out of Stenvik and down to the seaside. Gawkers, he thought. It was all entertainment to them until proven otherwise.

But if it broke, it had to be fixed. And if he got there first, he’d have a shot at doing it. That was the reason he gave himself for shoving harder, pushing more, receiving shouts and cries for his trouble. They did move out of the way though, he noticed with a twinge of satisfaction.

Inch by inch he pushed closer to the south gateway.

The stone tunnel was rammed full of people, pushing and shoving to get to the harbour. A surge of panic made Audun’s blood rise. This was not a good place to be. An animal urge drove him past the people in front of him and he gulped down the cool night air on the other side, allowing the stream of people to carry
him down the road to the old town and into the square by the harbour.

The scene before him was mesmerizing.

The flames merged with the moon rays to cast a flickering, dancing, orange light onto the square by the harbour. Skittish shadows weaved this way and that as the flames licked masts, tore at sails and bit into deck timbers. A suddenly quiet half-circle had formed at a respectful distance from the burning ships. Audun broke through the wall of milling people and stormed down to the harbour, eyes trained on the three ships burning brightly in the harbour. Waves of heat washed over him. Undaunted, he sprinted to the far right, where the flames rose highest.

*

The stream of villagers through the south gateway had become a trickle. Shouts and cries could be heard past the gates, but they sounded muted and far away.

Ragnar raised a clenched fist and signalled for a halt. He looked up, to the north gate then to the east, and veered to the right. Two more turns and they’d reach their destination.

*

As the knarr bobbed on the waves, unable to dislodge the crackling, spitting beast that gnawed at its innards, Audun’s eyes whipped round. The fire could jump across to the next boat at any moment, and from there …

Think!

There it was. A huge whetstone sat by a metalworker’s hut. Audun strode to it and took a deep breath. He bent his knees and took the time to test for the right grip. When he found it he strained, willing his muscles to cooperate. Somewhere within him a spark ignited, lighting an old fire. He growled and rose
slowly, painfully, and the stone rose with him. Determined steps took him back towards the pier.

*

Ulfar felt it in the pit of his stomach the moment he rounded the corner.

Something was not as it should be.

The guard was nowhere in sight. Instead there were two men huddled around the well, looking down. One of them, an unpleasant-looking man with longish, greasy hair, hoisted a sack up onto the edge. The old, wiry one was busy untying a small cloth bag from his belt.

Ulfar looked around. There was nobody near him. Even the walls seemed empty. Slowly the situation became clear.

Everyone was down by the harbour.

Ulfar took a deep breath and shouted as loud as he could, ‘THE WELL! ALL TO THE WELL!’ The old, grey-haired man whirled around, grabbed a fist-sized stone off the ground and hurled it at Ulfar. Pain exploded in his head and his knees buckled. Try as he might, he could not remain upright. Sinking to the ground he saw the grey-haired man approach him, kneel and draw a short skinning knife. Ulfar blinked as a ghost-like form emerged sneering behind the grey-hair, steel glinting in the moonlight. The surprise on the old man’s face as the dagger punched into his back matched Ulfar’s.

He saw the old man go down, saw the long-haired, rat-faced devil grinning behind him. The long-haired warrior dragged the older man over to the well, shifted him quickly and grabbed his ankle. The knife flashed again, this time near the old man’s heel. In one forceful motion, long-hair sliced through the tendon.

‘You know what, Ragnar – I think they will catch you,’ he sneered. ‘Unless you can fly. Skuld sends her regards. You will no
longer poison the minds of her warriors.’ The long-haired man turned and disappeared into the night.

Ulfar’s head felt like it was about to crack. Stars sparkled in his eyes and his skull pounded.

He passed out.

*

The whetstone punched through the hull with a loud crack. Water bubbled up and met burning wood, hissing and steaming. Audun was already on his way to the far end.

‘Sink the ships!’ he screamed at the top of his lungs. ‘Sink them! Or they’ll all burn!’

Sven came running out of the crowd and towards Audun. ‘Right, son,’ he said, eyes gleaming in the reflected firelight. ‘You don’t have any more big stones and we won’t get her out to sea. We’re going for a dip. You’re front, I’ll go back.’ Audun wanted to ask him what he meant, but Sven was already on his way. Moving with surprising speed he leapt from the harbour to the back of the burning ship, finding a foothold on the slippery boards with ease and grabbing the graceful curves of the rising stern. ‘Come on! I’m not getting any younger!’ he hollered cheerfully at Audun.

Realizing what Sven was asking for, Audun raced down the pier, past the burning midsection of the ship, and searched for the right place to jump. She was rocking gently on the waves now. Sven had found a foothold facing away from the pier and started to tug rhythmically at the stern, throwing his body weight back and forth to gain momentum.

Sweating from the heat, Audun leapt onto the prow, crashing into the planks with little of the old warrior’s grace.

‘Cows on ice stand better than that!’ Sven shouted. A flush of anger propelled Audun into place and he locked eyes with Sven.

As one, they started rocking back.

The broad, shallow hull of the longship pitched to the side but the weight of the ship righted it again, sending the keel smashing into the water. The impact jarred through Audun’s arms and up into his teeth. Sparks flew, fizzed and spat when they hit the water.

Again, they rocked. This time the gunwale lay flush with the water. Audun pulled for all he was worth, hanging off the prow. Water started seeping into the boat. ‘That’s the way, boy!’ He was sure he could hear Sven cackling.

The weight transferred, but the ship had already taken on water that sloshed with them, hissing when it met the flaming mast. The roll was powerful, almost tipping the ship over and into the jetty. He concentrated on finding footholds on the prow, inching higher up to create more counterweight.

The ship tipped over again towards them, and he launched himself, hanging off the prow.

The ice-cold water grabbed at his ankles, his calves, knees and thighs, the shock almost costing his hold.

For a heart-stopping moment the ship rested on its side, keel showing for the whole world to see, mast horizontal with the water – and then it tipped.

Steam erupted as the burning mast was plunged into the water.

Pushing off, Audun swam clear of the capsized ship and towards the harbour.

‘Well done, son. Well done.’ Sven’s bearded face and calloused hand appeared from the pier above, helping him up. Breathing hard, Audun clambered up and stood there, wet and shivering. When he glanced at Sven, the old man didn’t seem to have landed in the water at all. He blinked, shook himself to clear his head, and focused on the task at hand. The
Westerdrake
. The big ship
that they moored at the central pier was by far the largest one, and while the fire had started slowly it was locked in by now. A smell of burning thatch, heated metal and blackened wood rose to meet him. The sail billowed in the hot air. His first step towards the last ship was met with a coarse, pained scream.

‘NOOO!’

People scattered as Harald cannoned through the throng, yelling at the top of his voice. Sprinting towards the pier, he pulled off his shirt as he jumped onto the
Westerdrake
, thrashing about, beating at the flames. Momentarily stunned, Audun could do nothing but watch as yellow tongues of fire licked at Harald, singeing his hair, blistering his skin. He was jolted into action as the crazed man on the boat shot him a murderous look. ‘Help me, you useless bastard! Get water!’

But it was too late for that. Fire had eaten its way into the mast, bitten into the yard, spread over the sails. ‘Harald! We will have to sink it!’ Sven shouted from the pier.

‘NO! NO!’ Harald screamed, cried, roared in rage. ‘THIS IS THE
WESTERDRAKE
! BEARER OF ODIN’S WARRIORS! IT DOES NOT DIE!’

A shadow appeared on the pier, walked briskly past Sven and Audun and stepped onto the
Westerdrake
, into the flames.

Sigurd.

*

Valgard ran towards his house. He’d need more willow bark for pain and chickweed poultice for burns. Most of all he’d need water.

His bucket was empty.

Hut. There would be water in the hut. He could fill up the patients’ bucket later.

No water in the hut. No friend with the foreigner either. Strange.

A filled skin from the well would have to do.

Walking the path he’d walked countless times before, Valgard only noticed the foreigner just before he trod on him.

*

Sigurd stepped towards Harald and put a hand on his shoulder. Audun could not hear what was said but the big sea captain’s head whipped round, face feral and snarling. He smacked Sigurd’s hand away, screamed ‘NO!’ and turned back to the fires.

Sigurd’s hand came down hard on Harald’s shoulder and yanked him around. Contorted with rage and grief, the bare-chested captain’s face looked inhuman. He turned on Sigurd, grabbed a burning oar and swung, screaming.

Two steps and Sigurd was out of harm’s way. Flickering fire lit his face, snapping and crackling drowned his voice. Behind his back he made a chopping motion. Audun did not understand until he heard the thwack of knife meeting wood. Sven had cut the moorings with a wicked curving blade. The fire danced up the halyards, sparks kissing the sky in a dozen places. Resembling a child’s drawing in yellow on black, the ship soon responded to the gentle tug of the tide and started floating out of the harbour.

Flailing madly, Harald went after Sigurd with a vengeance. ‘YOU OLD BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU?’ he screamed. The burning oar drew flaming lines in the night sky, but Sigurd seemed to join with the shadows, always shifting, never in one place long enough for the blow to connect.

As the
Westerdrake
cleared the jetty Sigurd made his move. When Harald swung the oar, this time he ducked down instead of moving back. Then he launched himself at the big man, landing a series of fierce and fast blows to the jaw and stomach, then a vicious head butt that knocked Harald out.

‘Had to happen sooner or later,’ Sven muttered mirthlessly behind Audun. ‘We were lucky on that one.’

Onboard the
Westerdrake
, Sigurd was lugging the unconscious Harald towards the gunwale. He rolled the hulking raider overboard and jumped after him.

Sputtering and coughing, Harald came up for air. Sigurd was already halfway to the harbour. Audun watched as the captain swam after the chieftain, powerful strokes propelling him through the water.

‘Time to move, son,’ Sven said at his back. ‘Things could get ugly still.’

Sigurd emerged at the end of the pier, grey hair plastered to his head. Streaks of soot lined his face and he looked like something out of a tale to scare children. He locked eyes with Sven. Audun looked back and forth as something passed wordlessly between the two men. Then Sven flicked his wrist and the knife flew gracefully at Sigurd, spinning blade over hilt. The chieftain snatched it out of the air and turned to the sea. Arms relaxed at his sides, he suddenly looked less like an old man and more like a mountain cat about to pounce. The knife formed a natural claw extending from his right hand. A chill passed through Audun.

‘Killing time,’ Sven muttered.

Harald clambered up onto the end of the pier.

His upper body was covered in burns. Large, red patches of skin, bleeding scars, angry red welts where sparks had landed. Long reddish hair lay slick against his bull neck and square shoulders.

Sigurd’s voice was hard and clear. ‘Harald, son of Jormund. You’ve challenged me, and it’s—’

‘Do it. Do it now.’ Harald knelt and bowed his head.

Sigurd stood for a long while, immovable.

‘Do it.’ There was no hate in Harald’s voice. No anger. Just tired resignation.

Finally, Sigurd spoke. ‘We have sailed together, Harald. Fought together. I saved your life amongst the Danes; you pulled me out of the fires in Jorvik. We are brothers of the edge. I will not gut you here and now like a sodden dog if you show me that I can trust you.’ The flames from the burning
Westerdrake
outlined Harald’s back, framing his shoulders and head in flickering light. The man looked broken, Audun thought.